Projection
by HDUC
Summary: Set after series 4. We all know that the Doctor is desperately lonely, but what does he do to combat that loneliness? Just how HUMAN does he get? Very, very adult... Ten/Martha/Rose. Oneshot.


PROJECTION

He liked to tell himself he wasn't the lonely sort. But really, who was he kidding? There was a reason he always traveled with a companion. There was a reason why he spent so much time thinking of Gallifrey, of his family, his children, of Professor Song... when was he supposed to cross paths with her again? When was he going to find out about that "spoiler" with the handcuffs?

And that was another thing! There had been a time when he had also liked to tell himself that he had outgrown the need for... a certain kind of stimulation as well. But that had been blown all to hell a couple of years ago when his 10th regeneration found itself catastrophically attracted to Rose, and obviously vice versa, where before there had simply been a loyal, trusting friendship. And he'd be kidding himself again if he thought that his being drawn to Martha Jones had only to do with her magnificent brain. Both those girls had, let's just say, a lot going for them, and it had rocked his world. Which you would think would be a good thing...

That's why Donna was so cool. She cared about him sort of as an auntie cares about a nephew, and he had no feeling for her other than an utterly platonic thankfulness for her companionship. He was torn to pieces by having wiped her memory, but he didn't miss her in the same way he missed the other two girls. That is, in a _physical_ way.

The times when he allowed himself to acknowledge this were rare. But he was feeling unusually despondent, having rescued a benevolent planet from a malevolent one, like he usually does, but with no-one to support and love him, with no-one to save, no-one to look at him as though he were a valiant defender of blah blah blah... tonight, he was down.

He retreated to one of his entertainment rooms, and decided to bring the holographic imagizer with him. He was glad that it was a two-way device. He had used it to say goodbye (and not _I love you_) to Rose on Bad Wolf Bay, but its outgoing projection was failing. He hadn't used it for incoming projections in quite a while. Well, not counting when the TARDIS was stolen by the weeping angels. He set the device to its Psychic setting, and placed the suction cups at his temples. This way, it would project whatever image he wanted, without his having to program it. This function burned a lot of energy, but, he told himself, so had rescuing that planet all alone. He'd earned this.

He loved this room. Oriental rugs, mahogany bookshelves, plasma-screen television, fully equipped bar. He lay back on the fainting couch, and set the imagizer on the coffee table.

His thoughts drifted to Rose, of course.

Whenever he felt this way, she was his first thought. First, her face would pop into his head, and then her neck and torso, her perfect, round breasts, flat stomach and the gentle swell of her hips and bottom. And then the regret set in. Why didn't he have her when he had the chance? God knows she would have been amenable. They could have cut a swash across time and space, spent their off-hours shagging, both of them feeling much less tense and alone.

As his thoughts progressed, the images appeared. Her face, with the shorter haircut which he preferred. Then her body, life size, standing on the oriental rug, in form-fitting black trousers and a tight purple dress shirt (which is how he always pictured her). She looked sexy and intelligent, which is what she was. As he thought about sex with her, a wry smile came across her face, then a _come hither_ expression, accentuating her large, pouty lips. Her hand wandered to her shirt, and she undid one button.

He thought about how brilliant she was, and how it was too bad that she and Martha had gotten to meet only briefly.

And there was Martha. First her face, hair down with a headband, like when they went to the party for Professor Lazarus. She smiled at him as he began to think about the rest of her. The brown dress from the same night came into the picture. He remembered complimenting her shoes that night. What she hadn't known was that he liked them because they made her legs look absolutely delicious. Now she too was life-size on the rug, standing next to Rose. And the two of them were meeting, shaking hands and smiling. They were talking about him now, joking and glancing in his direction, whispering clandestinely. He found this intoxicating, though in real life, he'd probably pretend to be horrified. Their actual first meeting had been so adrenaline-soaked, there hadn't been time for any of this cutesy stuff.

Later, when he thought about it, he couldn't pinpoint the moment at which he lost control, and the fantasy went awry. But there it was, and then it was all over for him. He was down the path where so many had gone before...

As the two girls continued to whisper to one another, suddenly, their hands were wandering. Martha ran hers over Rose's smooth behind, and Rose's fingers found Martha's supple mouth. The darker girl sucked at the fingers, and then began to undo the buttons of the purple dress shirt. As the last button came loose, Martha ran her hands inside Rose's blouse, around her waist, up her back and then back round to the front. She gave the black-lace-covered tits a slow squeeze, making Rose moan heartily.

Martha pushed the blouse down Rose's arms and off, and the blonde threw her head back, closing her eyes. Martha licked at her neck gently, slowly, at the jugular, behind her ears, round her collar-bone. As her tongue explored these sensitive areas, Rose's breathing picked up, and her nipples became prominent through the lace. Rose moved her face back down, and the two girls' lips met. For the moment, it was a light kiss, a simple meeting of mouths. They each smiled sheepishly as they pulled away from the kiss.

Martha's hands then went straight for Rose's protruding nipples. She squeezed the right one, and Rose moaned. She squeezed harder, and Rose moaned louder, only this time, she whispered the word "yessss," afterwards, and urged Martha to squeeze harder. Martha obeyed, and a squeal sounded from Rose's lips. She grabbed Martha by the cheeks, with both hands, and their lips met full-on. They both opened their mouths to deepen the kiss, and their arms entwined round each other.

He watched them this way for quite a while. He had kissed them both well and truly, and was remembering each kiss in turn. He relished watching them enjoy each other in the same way, and imagined he could see their tongues dancing, pressing urgently against each other... and then, of course, he could see it.

And now it was Rose's turn to have wandering hands. One of them creeped down to the hem of Martha's dress, and then up. She had her hand now where he couldn't see it under the brown pleats, and in a moment, Martha pulled herself away from the heady kiss to let loose a moan of her own. Rose's hand moved up and down, up and down as Martha's expression grew more and more lax, and her own grew more and more evil.

Suddenly, Martha stopped her, and whispered, "No, don't wanna come yet." Both smiled, and then they had another good snog while Rose's hands found the zipper of Martha's dress and undid it. They turned so that Martha had her back to him now, and Rose was running her hand up and down the inside of the dress. He could see that she had no bra. Rose helped her out of the straps, and then pulled down the front of Martha's dress, making sure to admire her small, pert tits as she did so. She fondled them, all in a place where he couldn't see.

Then they let the dress fall to the floor, and Martha was left standing in her divinely-designed shoes, and a lacy pair of black knickers that spread across the top of her luscious bottom like a healthy vine. Rose's hands explored Martha's beautiful brown skin, and guided her to sit down upon the arm chair opposite.

Rose, still in her tight black trousers and bra, knelt down and spread Martha's legs apart. She pushed the crotch of Martha's pants aside and licked her from bottom to top, elliciting a mad groan of pleasure. Then she repeated the action, and got an even stronger response. From then, her tongue began to work overtime, licking Martha's clit up and down, side to side and then back again. After a few minutes, her lips closed and she began to suck. Both girls were moaning now, and Martha reached up over the back of the chair for leverage. She gripped hard, and brought her legs up around Rose's head and shoulders as her moans became squeals and her hips pushed repeatedly forward in search of solace.

He had, on more than one occasion, thought that Martha would look fantastically beautiful in the throes of orgasm. Those elegantly long eyelashes, perfect brows, naturally pink lips and big, flawless teeth. Even in distress, she had a wonderfully nuanced, expressive face, and now, he got to see her come. She winced as if in pain, gave a high pitch groan, and opened her mouth, though no sound nor breath came out. Her eyes were tightly shut, and her body spasmed and spasmed, until her arms went limp at her sides and her legs hung rubbery on either side of Rose's face.

The blonde pulled her heavy, wide lips away and licked them heartily. She said, "tasty," as she stuck her tongue in Martha's mouth and proceeded to suck hungrily at it, as though it held the key to some treasure.

Martha pushed her gently away, and Rose sat back on the oriental rug. Martha followed her to the floor, and immediately helped her out of her black trousers, and apparently, whatever underpants she'd been wearing. He saw that the tiny patch of hair between her legs was dark, and smiled. He'd known she was a bottled-blonde, but seeing her au naturel was still rather fascinating.

Martha helped Rose out of her bra, which left her completely naked upon the floor. Martha then lay across her, nibbling at her erect left nipple. She forced the little nub into a prominent state with her tongue, and teased at her swollen pink cleft with her left hand. The older, darker girl instructed her to spread her legs, and Rose obeyed. Martha barely touched the hot pink clit, and Rose's entire body jolted. She moaned and shut her eyes tight.

The action was repeated again, and then again; a quick finger (barely) to Rose's engorged clit, followed by a violent jolt from Rose. Finally, Martha began to rub the sensitive organ gently, sliding two fingers over the slippery little button, and then over it again, all the while, never letting go of Roses' finely-shaped tits. Her mouth was still hard at work on the top-half, and the combination was causing Rose to squirm off the floor.

Finally, the tension became too much, and Rose begged her, "Fuck me, please." Martha smiled sardonically, and asked, "like this?" as she slid two fingers into Rose's burning-hot passage. Rose let loose a heavy sigh, and Martha began to move her fingers in and out, in and out, nice and slow at first, still licking and sucking at Rose's tits.

Gradually, Martha's thrusting grew more rapid, and insidiously, Rose became breathless. She began to intake air very quickly, and squeak a bit each time. He had, obviously, thought many, many times about how Rose would come. He imagined that her body would spasm out of control, that her pussy would grip tight, and her manicured fingers would dig into underneath her so hard that the linens would have to be discarded.

And now he got to see it. She came wildly, her pussy lips gripping like mad at Martha's fingers, pulsing around them, sucking at them desperately. Her entire body came up off the floor, save for her toes and shoulders, and then her hands slammed down on the rug, and she ripped some carpet tassles off the edge of the rug as she did so. Martha had to struggle to keep up, to keep her hands and mouth in place, to keep from being kicked or nudged out of range.

As Rose calmed, Martha divested herself of her last stitch of clothing, and then climbed up Rose's body. Their hands wandered up and down and everywhere as their mouths met once again, and Martha tasted herself on Rose's tongue. Their bodies were still on fire, and he watched them suck each others' mouths and rub their mounds against each other until all three of them, Time Lord and hologram alike, were exploding and flying apart once again.

He saw them both coming differently this time. Martha went unhinged, spasming and pushing, screaming and throbbing, and Rose slid into a silent, luxurious orgasm at Martha's behest. He himself fell somewhere in-between, climaxing slowly but violently, body lifting briefly off the couch, but without crying out.

As he calmed, the two girls looked at him expectantly, as though waiting for instructions. And then, as if his brain had short-circuited, the girls disappeared from the carpet, and he was all that remained in this giant room, left to clean up the mess.

Dear God, how he needed to find another less-weary traveler, post-haste.


End file.
